God must've cooked this meal specifically to celebrate my newfound status as King of the Losers, because this is the worst food I have ever tasted.

The burger tastes like soil; the fries are soggier than Jen's vagina; they even fucked up the Sweet Tea.

How do you fuck up a Sweet Tea?

You know, I never complain at fast food restaurants if the food sucks, but this is unacceptable. You're pouring a drink, you literally have ONE JOB, and it's the simplest one ever. How on Earth do you fuck it up?

"Uh, excuse me?"

God. Did they put rat poison in my drink? It feels like my intestines are in a cat fight with a drag queen, and the drag queen is definitely winning.

"Hi, um, can I actually get a different Sweet Tea, I think there's something in this one."

Just breathe, Connor. Breathe.

"Um, yeah sure. What do you think it was?"

Please God. I'll settle for any miracle you've got. Just don't make me puke on the countertop. Please God, don't make me THAT guy.

"I don't really know for sure, but something tasted really gross in there, definitely didn't taste like Sweet Tea."

Everything feels 50 pounds lighter. I feel like I'm on shrooms. Only thing that's missing is the color show.

"Did it have an odd texture to it?"

My God, it's so hot. I'm legitimately panting like a dog.

"Uh, yeah, a little bit."

Woof.

"Let me check the machine real quick."

Why would you say that? You're going to let paranoia take over Open Mic Night at the Disappointment Theatre. You NEVER want to let paranoia take over.

"Oh shit, sir I am SO sorry. There was something wrong with the machine."

That clip from Family Guy where Chris and his friends take mushrooms is on infinite loop in my brain right now, and it's playing faster and faster.

"You alright, sir?"

Someone please make it stop.

"Yeah, why?"

I'm actually scared.

"You're drenched in sweat, and you look very sick."

"Oh."

"Do you need help, do you need me to call you an ambulance?"

"N-no that's fine. Urmm. Can I, can I just get a refund?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Wait… nah, actually, I-I think I'll give you a refund instead."

There's no way I just said that. I had definitely thought that, but there's no way I actually said that.

But what a refund it was though. I sprayed that refund all over the countertop, that guy's uniform, it even hit the Sweet Tea machine. I think I yelled "Lebron!" at one point when I was aiming for the trashcan.

That was a Rockstar's Refund. That's what that was. Kurt Cobain told one of his friends when he was fourteen that he was going to become a superstar, get rich and famous, and then kill himself in a blaze of glory like Jimi Hendrix. Then he did.

Well aren't I lucky.

I get to skip steps 1 and 2.